Page 66 of Mr. Big Shot

“For what?”

I can’t say it.

My silence does my talking for me though, and Scarlett’s too smart not to pick up on the seismic shift that’s happened between us.

She steps back forcefully. She’s already wearing an angry scowl.

“I wanted that,” she says fiercely. “So don’t you dare ruin it with some apology now.”

She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t feel what I’m feeling inside, like the world’s biggest pig, the worst user. I wanted her like I’ve never wanted anything, and I let that blind me.

Now, that fog has cleared enough for me to feel sick to my stomach.

“I’m sorry, Scarlett.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” she erupts, stepping away from me even more. The distance seems crucial. “God, just stop. Why are you doing this? We could have just laughed it off and ordered dinner. Watched stupid TV and then parted ways.” She points an accusatory finger at me. “I could have seen you on Monday and everything would have been fine. Why are you looking at me like that?! Like you’re scared I’m about to start crying.”

I am scared she’s about to start crying. It’s like we’re inside an emotional vortex. Everything feels too raw.

I knew this was wrong. I knew it on every level and I just couldn’t let common sense guide me. I wanted her too much, and now I can never go back and do the right thing. I can’t go back to before, when I hadn’t touched her.

I’ve always joked that I’m a villain at heart, but I’ve never truly felt like one until right now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Scarlett

For once, Moira and I share the same mood. All day Sunday, my apartment is the perfect backdrop for my misery and heartache. I don’t bother drawing the curtains back or changing out of my pajamas. I order breakfast, then I order lunch, then I order dinner, all from the comfort of my cozy spot on the floor onto which I’ve piled every comfortable blanket and pillow I can find in my apartment. I’m unwilling to sit on my couch. If I didn’t stand a high chance of going up in flames alongside it, I’d have already set it on fire.

If it’s not perfectly obvious, I’m angry with Hudson, and unfortunately, my anger with him is only eclipsed by my anger with myself. I knew on a molecular level that it was a very dumb idea to sleep with him. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I’d already developed real feelings for him despite him being my older boss. Oh, and look at the dumbass who still got hurt when things didn’t pan out exactly as I’d hoped they would! Feel bad for me! The girl who walked into the arms of a villain!

Did I think he was going to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story after sleeping with me on that couch!? It’s Hudson Rhodes! My brother warned me about him on day one, and I was too stupid to listen.

I’m unwilling to think about or reimagine everything that happened before he left my apartment last night. My full attention is focused on the way I felt after that door closed behind him: like complete trash. The shower I took didn’t suffice. I also threw away the lingerie and dress I wore for him. Sent them both down the trash shoot with a satisfied slam of the metal door.

Despite Hudson fleeing my apartment as fast as his feet could possibly carry him, I hoped, as silly as it sounds, that he would reach out to me on Sunday. Hey, Scarlett! Sorry about my weird-ass exit last night! Just realized my body was possessed by aliens for a little while, but everything is all good now! Want to meet for lunch?

I would have also even accepted a simple “Hey.”

I kept my phone by me all day, and the despair of realizing, at around 7:00 p.m. Sunday night, that I would not be getting a phone call or text or email from him made the situation sear through me as fresh and painful as ever.

On Monday, I barely want to get out of bed, but I’ll be damned if I skip work and get fired because of him. I reach for whatever clothes my fingers touch first, pull my hair up into a ponytail, and apply as much makeup as I would on any other day in the hopes that I look semi-human despite getting horrible sleep the last two nights.

My stomach is twisted into a tight knot a seasoned sailor would be mighty proud of as I take the elevator up to the 70th floor. I don’t want to see Hudson first thing. I’m not sure how I’ll react, what asinine thing will slip out of my mouth. I’ve got a “Screw you” locked and loaded.

The hallway near my office is crowded—thankfully. I didn’t get in as early as I usually do, didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into Hudson when there weren’t other people around. Just him and me and an empty hallway? Trouble.

I set my things down in my office and then head into the break room for a coffee. I need it more than ever. There are a few first-year associates in there that pay me no mind, but I’m used to it by now. Usually, I don’t let them bother me, and today should be no different.

I make Kendra a cup of coffee too. She was already at her desk when I went in, but she was on the phone so I didn’t get the chance to ask if she wanted anything. I decide to err on the side of caution.

Back in our office, I set down her coffee and offer a short hello. I mean, I haven’t gotten too carried away in our fledgling friendship, but she doesn’t even respond or look up or acknowledge me in any way. Okay…

I don’t know if it’s the fact that it’s only the second Monday into the new year or if maybe Kendra woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but over the course of the morning, it feels like all the progress we managed to make before the holidays has completely come undone.

When I get back from lunch, I ask her if she had a good weekend, and she replies with a curt, “Fine.”

Have I gone back in time? This is how it felt the first week we shared an office together. Why the extra cold shoulder now?

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